


Criminals are Bad

by love2imagine



Category: White Collar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 17:36:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3701009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/love2imagine/pseuds/love2imagine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What might have happened in the episodes Wanted and Most Wanted, (401 or 4.01 and 402 or 4.02) and how sadly you can never, never trust criminals. Be warned.</p><p>Alternate Title: when Collins didn't get rewarded for being a bastard.</p><p>Massive spoilers for the episodes around this: Judgement Day, Wanted and Most Wanted...obviously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Criminals are Bad

**Author's Note:**

> If you have a bit of extra moola, and want to thank Marsha for her efforts in WC, they are raising funds for a movie with her and Ryan, from Castle. I told JE the should ask for funding for WC this way, since 'it's all about the $$$' was the cry of the time! I loved Di, so donated a little something. Would be wonderful if we could go and chuck a few bucks in for a lovely story on AO3, too...cheaper than books and gas to the library!  
> Do consider a small donation:  
> https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/the-extraordinary-farewell

 

 

Peter Burke, righteous Special Agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigations, struggled within himself. There was nothing much he could do about what had happened…and he wasn’t to blame, but it had happened because of him. He had done the best he could …

 

But Neal, his CI, his helper, his friend, was out there in the world with no protection. He could be killed by another criminal. He might be shot by the police as he committed a crime. Neal had fled with little, he would have to go back to his old life. He would go to some poverty-stricken place, perhaps, or where there was not good health care and become ill. He might end up in a hell-hole of a prison and die there.

 

There were many ways Neal could die, having fled from Kramer. But Peter couldn’t think that, had he been able to sit down and talk to Neal, he would have chosen to stay as the slave to a cruel master, forever. Someone who saw him as _bad_. (Oh, Peter knew he’d always had reservations about Neal, but Neal had so much good in him…and Kramer would never care about that. He would just use him till he was dead, one way or the other.) _That_ life would be a living hell for someone like Neal. Better dead.

 

Peter shuddered. _How did I ever respect Phil Kramer, ever want to be like him?_

Of course, there had been no time to debate, no time to think: Peter had made a snap judgement, and he would stand behind that at the gates of heaven, should he ever find himself there. No-one on Earth knew, other than El (and Neal, wherever he was), that he had told Neal to run. In fact, the only reason Neal had understood his cryptic message was their deep and abiding bond, almost telepathy when the chips were down and the fat was catching fire.

 

_Of course, Diana almost certainly knows, in her heart, perhaps Jones, too…but their beliefs are not evidence._

But the same slight shake of his head that had given Neal so many ways to die had also caused many things to fade in Peter’s life. Could life have been so boring Before Caffrey?

 

And then – just as though the universe was trying to punish both of the erstwhile partners, another way to die: Collins.

 

Peter had met many truly evil men, men who would take a great-grandmother’s last penny and smile while she starved; people who traded children to lives of sex and degradation and got rich off the trades; murderers who had told him how the victims had forced them to commit their crimes, and believed their own words; doctors who in the name of their oath had sold adulterated or badly tested drugs to their patients, and watched them suffer.

       Yet he had never met a man he would like to punch in the face and wipe off that smirk with a few follow-up blows more than Collins.

 

_Perhaps because he hides behind a badge. A badge like my badge. A badge that should be honoured. Because the system forces the people he targets to pay his salary…oh, God, I sound like Mozzie._

_And who would have thought I’d even miss Mozzie!_

It started out, as so many things had with Peter Burke, as a good and generous idea. Just like the generous idea to take Neal out of prison, that started all of this fiasco in the first place!

         But if Collins went after Neal, Neal was just as likely to end up dead. Not that _Kramer_ wanted him dead, he wanted to use him up till he was a husk, _that_ would be the way Kramer punished him for evading his clutches, over and over…but when Collins went looking, the attenuated leash Kramer had on his rabid dog wouldn’t stop him from killing Caffrey if he resisted in any way. And Neal would resist. Oh, yeah. Peter found that he doubted if Collins would bother to identify himself before shooting down his target and then using his badge to save himself from consequences.

 

Peter had seen born killers before, and Collins was worse. Collins liked to kill…slowly. It burned in his eyes. He would have killed Peter, if he could. There was nothing that silver-Caffrey-tongue could say that would assuage that need.

 

Peter faced another decision: stay home, do his job and wait to see what happened…?...perhaps Neal and Mozzie could evade Collins till the Bureau became weary of wasting resources on a non-violent criminal who had been on the verge of having his sentence commuted. Perhaps the Faceless Men _(Oh, God, More Mozzie!)_ behind the powers would change, and Neal would get lost in the cracks, forgotten, Collins recalled.

_But if a killer goes up against a man who abhors violence, the killer usually wins._

So Peter, with Hughes turning a blind eye, decided to try and get to Neal first and warn him. That was his plan and he had no idea what to do after he’d done that! But he could give Neal a head-start.

 

If he could find him, first.

 

It wasn’t easy. He hadn’t got the resources available to Collins. But, following Collins, he found the little woman who had known Neal, and somehow El convinced her to trust them…possibly the photographs did it, Neal and himself, laughing together…

 

Ellen had a number, an anonymous pager, and he called it. A while later, he heard back from Neal. Without Neal’s knowledge, he recorded the call, totally legal if one party knew about the recording, and he _was_ trying to help Neal (he soothed his conscience) …and then he was stuck. At least Neal had been warned about Collins, that was something. But Peter didn’t think Neal was giving the threat proper weight.

 

He didn’t try and explain the lifting of his heart when he heard Neal’s voice. Didn’t really have to. There were few people in Peter Burke’s life. Fewer people whom he really cared about on a personal level. El was his wife. Neal was his friend. It was that simple.

 

He had to bring in the team, and thankfully they trusted and respected him enough, liked Neal enough, to work off-book on this one. (And with Neal, they’d all done it before!) Diana used her contacts at Quantico, they studied storm-patterns when they found there was thunder on the tape, and those bells…they isolated the location. Cape Verde Islands.

 

“We’ve got him!” Peter said, jubilantly, and started making plans to leave immediately, leaving Diana and Jones to find a way to safely bring Neal back. Where Neal wanted to be: here, New York, and free. Or, worst come to worst, working with him, Peter, again.

 

_We’re ahead of Collins now! Finally!_

 

 

El had been charged with the lovely chore of going to see June and, without giving any details, make sure she kept Neal’s studio free. Just in case.

 

But she didn’t get that far.

 

She came down from showering and dressing, feeling more cheerful than she had in a long while. Not only did she miss having Neal and Mozzie around, they were bright and interesting and shared many of her interests, but she missed the man her husband became around Neal. He had been trying too hard, since Neal left. This morning, he’d been full of hope, that same bounce in his step! She was smiling…

 

…She had never before experienced the terrible, helpless feeling of having armed and booted thugs invade her home, taking away every right she possessed under the Constitution with a small, printed document she hardly looked at in her distress …it didn’t matter to these men that her husband was with the Bureau. Didn’t matter if the Burkes were good or bad, criminals or law-enforcers.

 

This was worse than when she was kidnapped, the feeling of violation.

 

And Collins’ smug expression at her dismay, revelling in his power over her, that smooth-talking Burke’s own _wife_ …and then his victorious relishing of her fear and horror as her heart sank when she realised that Peter had kept the chart showing Neal’s probable location, and this monster had found it. El had never been a gun advocate, but if a dealer had appeared right there and then with the correct paperwork…? For Neal, for Peter, yeah!

 

 

 

Hughes sighed. He liked Neal. He never thought he would, but the young man had been stellar: useful, loyal, cheered up the office – even Hughes himself! - _usually_ honest (and Hughes had been deliberately kept in the dark when he wasn’t, to his relief!), and had made his Department the talk of the law enforcement community at large. Hughes had never told him that, but of course Peter knew.

 

_I should have told him. I miss him and I wish I knew how to find out who wields the power behind this Kramer character…because now because of this, Burke’s in trouble again!_

Peter was furious: “Collins was in my _house!_ He had no right to be there!”

 

“He had every right – you were with-holding Caffrey’s whereabouts!”

 

“I was speculating in my free time!” Peter shot back. He was enraged by Collins _– he got a search warrant – how? With what probable cause? Who is this Power behind Kramer and Collins?_

 

And he was enraged that he had kept the map there, a memento to his cleverness!

 

And he wished Hughes would back him up a little more!

 

“You marked his location on a map that Collins found – is that where Caffrey is? Is he there! Are you sure?”

 

“I don’t know.” Peter continued to scowl. “It was a hypothesis, nothing more.” He took a deep breath. “Collins?”

 

“On the first flight out of New York.”

 

“Does he have jurisdiction?”

 

“No.” Hughes looked at Burke. He knew Peter, he was a good agent because he never gave up. How could Hughes expect him to give up a man who had become a friend?

 

“Then how do you think he's gonna bring Neal back?” Both of them knew what Peter was asking.

 

“Caffrey's fate is out of your hands, Peter,” Hughes said, but in his heart he didn’t mean it. He was a man who believed in right and wrong. This was all wrong.

 

So, with Caffrey-like double-talk, Hughes had earlier got rid of Collins without having him charge Peter with anything, and got rid of Peter, if he knew his men at all, to go and warn Neal.

 

Hughes sighed again. Was he getting old or had simply knowing whom to like, whom to trust, been easier forty years ago?

 

 

 

 

For some period of time during the flight, Peter struggled to remember – had he actually marked Santa Maria on the map he’d left? He remembered Jones telling him the name of the town, the name of the church…and _he_ was headed for Sal, the correct island for Santa Maria…but he felt sure he’d just circled the Cape Verde archipelago, just thrilled to have narrowed Neal’s location to such a small area on such a large piece of paper!

        

But if he _hadn’t_ marked Santa Maria, Collins might well head for Praia first, the capital – on the island of Santiago! Now _that_ might work in their favour!

 

Peter would have loved to be visiting Cape Verde on holiday with El! The smell, the feel of the air, the quality of the sunlight, the brilliant colours of the ocean, the people, the music…but he was ridden by a sense of urgency. Collins might well be there before him or, if connecting flights worked in his favour, right behind him. June had used some contacts to get him a charter flight, and that should give him three hours. Not long enough, but better than nothing. And if Collins headed for Santiago first, well, he might get stuck there for a day or two! And would he then try Sal? There were ten islands altogether…but Sal had a good airport…was that in Neal’s favour, or not? Would Collins expect him to be on an island with less-easy access?

 

He booked in to a simple but very pleasant boarding house, and dumped his bags, changed his shoes and left.

 

 _Now what?_ _Try local watering holes – if Mozzie is here, places to buy wine? – Wait! A **hat** shop!_

He went in. The pleasant-faced man appeared and spoke in the local Portuguese. Peter shook his head and said, slowly, in English, “I am looking for a friend. Have you seen this man?” He pulled out his photograph of Neal, and pointed, hoping the language barrier wasn’t going to prove too much of a hurdle.

 

The small man with his neatly shaped beard, well-groomed moustache and clever eyes glanced at Peter, and then took another look at the photograph.

 

“Oh! Seu Maine.”

 

Peter felt a flood of relief. He had a chance…but Neal hadn’t, as he’d told Collins, disappeared through reinvention. He was being sloppy. ‘Seu Maine’ should never have worn a hat at all! It had just been the wildest off-chance that Peter had come into the hat-shop! Which meant that Collins could have a chance of finding Neal, too.

 

“Yes, Seu Maine,” Peter nodded. “Do you know where I can find him? I owe him an apology.”

 

The man frown a little, then went into the back and brought out a receipt with an address on it.

 

Peter was worried, but also feeling the delight of the chase, the scent of the quarry! Only Neal had really made him feel like this…he was so smart, and Peter knew he’d never break in a door and find Neal with a gun trained at his forehead. Neal was smart and safe, a very nice combination.

 

Peter found his way to the address, and scowled. It was a place that had mail-boxes for hire. Now he’d have to stake out the place and wait for Neal to come – and Neal might use other intermediaries. This could waste time! He didn’t have time!

 

He went in and there was a middle-aged woman, very dark-skinned, her eyes as black as coal. She was eyeing him strangely. He pulled out the photo once again.

 

“My friend, Seu Maine?” he asked.

 

She studied the picture and his face alternately a few times and then asked, “Seu Peter Burke?” sounding the last ‘e’ as a separate syllable.

 

Peter nodded, surprised. Had Neal thought he’d come? He felt a little warmed inside.

 

The woman scrabbled under the desk and gave him a sealed manila near-letter-sized envelope. She made shoo-ing motions with her hands, and Peter obediently left. He took the envelope and found a wall short enough to sit on, by the side of a building in the shade of an over-hanging tree. He would be inconspicuous there.

 

He opened the envelope. It was empty except for a photograph of a man, late middle-age, blonde hair. Something seemed familiar about him, but Peter was just as sure he’d never seen that face. Was this supposed to be Neal’s disguise? Neal never wore disguises, he just looked different…but if this was a disguise, it was a doozy! He turned it over…just a single word: Hobbs.

 

“Well,” Peter said to himself, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

 

He looked in the envelope and on the back he noticed the stamp of an Office Supply Company: Quality Stationery, and a phone number.

 

He returned to his boarding house and asked to use the phone. After some questionable dickering (the landlord took his money, rifled through it and gave him back some of it), he was given the phone. He dialled the number and a girl’s voice said, “Olá?”

 

“Quality Stationery?” Peter asked.

 

There was a sudden silence, and the same voice said, in carefully rehearsed, broken English, “Who is this speeeking?”

 

“My name is Peter Burke, I am - ”

 

“Mr. MacLeish is not in. Adeus.”

 

Peter stared at the hand-set, wondering how much he’d paid a second for that! That must rival the most horrendous dial-4-sex fees! He wondered if he dared dial again…and did, but it just rang and rang. He went up to his room and stared at the photo, and then suddenly he realised… _MacLeish!_ At Quantico he’d studied a man named MacLeish…but what…how did Neal…he stared at the photograph…then he made his way back to the hat-shop.

 

He showed the photograph to the manager. The bright eyes dulled, the lips thinned. Peter said, “You know this man?”

 

“Hobbs.”

 

_Ahhh…not **Mister** Hobbs! _

 

Peter pointed to the ground and said, “Here?”

 

The man said some very quick words in what sounded like Portuguese to Peter, then took him outside and took his arm and steered him to a little restaurant or café. The pretty dark-haired girl there looked at Peter without interest, but smiled a little at the hat man, who now spoke to her in rapid Portuguese. Then she looked at Peter, nodded and said,

 

“He says you look for Mr. Hobbs. He knows less English than me. His son is normally there, and he speaks English goo- well.”

 

“Well, I am interested in Mr. Hobbs, but more in this man!” Peter brought out the photograph of Neal again.

 

She looked at it carefully, appearing to appreciate the blue eyes and the smile. Then she shrugged. “Sadly, Seu, I have seldom seen anyone like this man.

         “But Seu Hobbs…he runs the island. He has a very big house, _mansão?”_ p >

“Mansion? Where can I meet this man – or just see him?”

 

“He stays away from here, a lot,” she said. “Sometimes he comes, like …king?” She made her face fat and self-important, puffed out her chest and swung her shoulders.

 

“Ah – a royal visit?” Peter asked, and they grinned at each other.

 

The hat man, who had been listening avidly, suddenly burst into speech. Peter wondered if his English sounded like an excited auctioneer to foreigners! The girl nodded and turned to Peter. “At the docks, he has several boats. He likes boats. He even puts them in bottles.” She shook her head. “But there is some talk that he is going on his boat later today, fishing? That is what they say.”

 

Which meant that Peter spent the rest of the day sitting on the docks with a rented fishing rod that he knew would never catch anything, snacking on food the pretty girl, Maya, had put together for him, praying that he would see Neal, and would not see Collins.

 

While he waited, he wondered: did Neal work for Hobbs? In his very big royal-house-palace? Forging masterpieces?

 

And all at once, he saw the man in the photograph, with that self-important walk that Maya had exaggerated, surrounded by flunkies and sycophants, if Peter was any judge, some of them to ensure his comfort, more to make sure no-one tried to disturb it.

 

It is easier to recognise a whole person. Photographs can catch an angle or an expression that conceals. Peter studied the bones, the physique, the hands, the ears…hardest thing to disguise, ears, unless you could land a spot playing Spock! He started to feel that warmth of an immense excitement building…but he couldn’t be sure.

 

But then Peter saw the names of the boats – three of the biggest boats in the whole area, tied side-by-side on adjacent slips – and jig-saw puzzles-pieces began to fall into place. Adele, Maria…and Mirabella! Okay, yes, when they’d learnt the mnemonic at Quantico, they’d added an ‘a’ to Adele to make it rhyme, but the original name _was_ Adele! And Mirabella was just so unusual..! Here they were…three of Rob’s Fair Ladies! The FBI had tried tracking the notorious criminal through his many women – it was how they caught Caffrey, after all, many years later! – and now, after all these years, it had paid off. He packed up and hurried back to the boarding house.

 

How sure was he? And where was Neal in all this?

 

Then he started to wonder…Neal had been able to get to a phone. But was he kept, a sort of captive, inside Hobbs mansion? – No, Hobbs would have taken the pager, or not allowed him to respond. No, Neal wasn’t a prisoner, as such. But he might be just laying low, keeping a low profile, especially after Peter warned him. Yet no-one here remembered that stunning profile, winning smile? No, he hadn’t been seen. Or – were they hiding him for some reason, lying to Peter for him...

 

He might just have come here, to Cape Verde, to hide. For all Peter knew, Neal and Hobbs might have long-standing relationships. And where was Mozzie in all of this? Not that he’d asked about Mozzie. Typically, he had no photo of Mozzie to show anyone so he could ask! One could describe Neal Caffrey so that anyone who had seen him would remember him. They remembered his smile, his physique, his blue eyes,…he was so memorable that his actions were easily forgotten. Even if they were bad. It was Mozzie who had perfected blending-in like quick-drying paint!

 

Peter tried to think. The last thing he wanted to do was set something in motion that, if his instincts were correct, caught the FBI’s Huge White Whale…only to have Neal swept up in the same net!

 

He couldn’t make up his mind. He had a bite to eat at the restaurant, went up to his room and made some lists and spread out what little he knew across the bed – and then fell asleep, having missed many hours in the days before reaching Cape Verde.

 

But in the morning, he knew what he had to do. He wasn’t sure where Collins was, but he could be on this island by now. If Collins found a trace of Caffrey, it would be disastrous. Peter had to act and later try and save Neal, or tell Hughes he’d helped, or something.

 

So he braved the roaming fees on his phone – and then had to brave some very snarky words from Hughes, since he’d neglected to consider the time difference!

 

“I’ll call you as soon as I know, Peter, about the biometrics off the photograph.

         “Taking a holiday, are you?”

 

“Um – change of scenery, put the whole mess with Caffrey out of my mind.” Peter winced. Hughes must know that Collins was hot on his heels! But Hughes just coughed that dry cough of his, and disconnected.

 

Peter spent the rest of the day showing Neal’s photograph to anyone he met with a spectacular lack of results, though most females seemed to take a great interest in the man in the photograph.

 

_Come on, he isn’t **that** good looking!_

 

Neal couldn’t be sleeping with _all_ of them – and he didn’t have the funds to pay them all! Perhaps Hobbs did. Perhaps Neal’s disguise was that good…or perhaps they didn’t know him, perhaps Peter’s team had been wrong…? Which would mean that Collins would follow incorrect instructions!

 

Meanwhile, this Hobbs character…?

 

 

 

 

About forty-five minutes after this, Collins alighted from the air-transport and was nearly blown straight off the island and into the frigid ocean. He swore under his breath, becoming more and more furious and disillusioned. Was Caffrey really here? Was he that crazy? And was he, Kyle Collins, being paid enough for this?

 

It had taken him a ridiculous amount of time and a more ridiculous amount of money to reach this frozen outpost. It was supposed to be easy to access, an international research-type place, and from what Collins knew of Caffrey, he could con his way into such facilities with ease. But the Mother Country, Norway, was extremely protective of her little sister, threw red tape at him with both hands… and _expensive!_ …and if this was what counted as spring, he’d eat his hat. His fur hat. His damned _expensive_ damned fur hat!

 

Having spent that amount of resources, Collins had to justify it, and went from place to place, renting snowmobiles and guides with rifles in case of a polar bear attack (!), showing Caffrey’s mug-shot, telling everyone how dangerous the man was (the crime rate here was zero, so he felt that was the best way to ensure the locals would give him up. Little did he know that they were just as sure, for that very reason, that the man had never been here! They just thought that this rude man was the craziest of crazy Americans!) and offering his half-million US dollar reward. He’d have thought they’d try and help just to get the money and get off this piece of frozen rock!

 

But even a rabid Komodo dragon has a breaking point. Kyle Collins eventually reached his and made his way home with minor frost-bite, a foul temper and a nasty incipient cold. The locals were glad to see him go. The polar bears were friendlier and they brought tourists!

 

 

 

He arrived to find a smiling Burke the centre of a media frenzy and a Bureau-celebration such as Collins had never seen! Burke had gone for a short holiday and by chance, an excellent memory and some good basic police work, found Robert MacLeish, one of the most sought-after of the FBI’s most wanted.

 

It was all too much, and Collins snapped furiously at his patron while trying to justify his travel expenses, with no Neal Caffrey in tow (in or out of a body-bag) to make it all worth while. Kramer had to hold in his own nasty temper: he still wanted Caffrey, and Collins had the skills, the ethics of a mob lawyer and loved to hurt people. He was still his best bet to find Caffrey, though Kramer was relieved that he would get another chance to convince Collins more empathically that Neal would hate being stuck forever in DC with Kramer and Collins more than anything else! And he certainly wouldn’t get that generous 2 mile radius, either!

 

Collins did wonder if Burke had set him up with a fake marked map, but voided that thought immediately. Burke wasn’t that clever, but even more telling was that expression on Burke’s wife’s face when she saw he had the map. No, Neal had given him the slip.

 

Only on his darkest days did Collins ever harbour a question: If he’d let Burke go with him, or even instead of him, could he have found Caffrey?

 

 

 

 

 

While Peter, El, Diana and Jones were celebrating with Hughes at a nice little diner, with a bottle of champagne that might have actually tasted better out of paper cups, Mozzie and Neal shared an exceptional example of antipasto on a gorgeous platter in a very nice little cosy restaurant and sipped, for their own amusement, Bloodhounds from elegant glasses.

 

“So?” Mozzie said, after they had taken the edge off their appetites.

 

Neal grinned lazily. “That was fun! I didn’t think Collins would scour the archipelago as he must have done! I can’t think he enjoyed himself!”

 

“You never know! We have no list of his hobbies or interests. He started out wanting to be a doctor, you know, but I guess he preferred making ‘em bleed to stopping ‘em bleeding! Now he likes capturing butterflies – or their human equivalents! – and breaking knee-caps and taking orders from Kramer!

         “He may, after all, have wanted to see the most amazing seed storage and plant diversity preservation unit in the world!

         “He may desire to see polar bears up close and personal! I wish they’d been closer and more personal, but he regretfully made it back in one piece.

         “He may have hoped to be part of the festivals: Polar Jazz, Dark Season Blues, Sunfest Week or KunstPause Svalbard…though sad to say, he missed them all!”

 

“Have you lived there?” Neal asked, amused.

 

“During your extended stay at the Federal Government No-Star, I annoyed…someone. From before your time, you didn’t know him, no need to know him now, for reasons that shall become apparent.

        “For the same considerations Collins did not find you, the average human, especially those used to the pampering of North America, find it hard to retain enthusiasm in that level of cold, dark and isolation. I easily fitted into the scientific community, though, and enjoyed myself thoroughly, though I must admit I was also pleased to leave when I got word that my…antagonist… had bitten a bullet!”

 

“So, we can shelve the recordings of Spanish bells and thunderclaps and waves!

         “You know, Mozzie, it’s almost too easy to fool those average people you are talking about!”

 

“Yes…Collins was like a hound smelling a bob-cat when I left that post-it note about Diana and Jones visiting Peter at home!

         “Of course, I gave myself a chance to change the bugs for those new ones that look exactly like the one Fowler had at the Suit’s…but they’re much more sensitive to sounds, yet hard-wearing!

         “But when I saw the Suit had left his own map, carefully marked, I admit I was of half-a-mind to let them both go to Cape Verde and duke it out over MacLeish! It was a toss up for me to leave the other map!”

 

“No, come on now, Peter did give me the head’s up, and he got me out on the anklet long ago. Collins is meaner’n’a junk yard dog!”

 

“Let us not go into that! ‘Being your friend is not about agreeing with you on everything. It's about telling you the truth when no one else will, even if you don't want to hear it’! - I’ll give you that your own pet Suit is an idiot, but not a vicious idiot. So he can have the tropics and a Most Wanted catch.”

 

“Lucky you had some contacts…and could get there and set in place while I just lay low in Somewhere. Are you going to re-name Somewhere?”

 

“Yeah. Have to replace a few safehouses here.

____________"Also make sure we recompense those friends on Verde.

____________"And I had to be careful with the clues I left...not too many, not too few…trying not to make it too hard for the Suit. The people there were very pleased to oblige, they had enough of Hobbs!”

 

“Yeah – but Svalbard? You actually chose that? I would never believe that I would go there!”

 

“You were a desperate man on the run from the **_terrible, frightening, all-powerful Bureau_** – remember, it’s their own vision of themselves that drives them! – _and_ Collins believed that the Man Who Knows You Best…”

 

“…who caught me twice…”

 

“…who caught you once and found you lying about a second time…had used his personal knowledge of you, and his team’s fantastic ability ( _he_ doesn’t know you were a huge part of that!) to pin-point you on a map for him! And he was in such a rush he didn’t have time for calm and rational thought…if he did think he could predict the thoughts of a criminal!”

 

“Wonder if he brought home any souvenirs…since he didn’t get me! Mukluks or …or…” Neal found himself at a loss. “Snow globe?” he ventured.

 

“Those are Canadian, Mukluks. But I’ll bet you _he_ brought home a pet! He’ll be able to use the royal ‘we’ from now on!”

 

Neal’s eyebrows rose over the rim of his cocktail glass as he sipped.

 

“If he didn’t know better, it is possible that he caught a tapeworm. Fox faeces. Not in the good hotels or anything, of course – Norwegian! – but - ” Mozzie smiled to himself. “One can but hope!”

 

“Well,” Neal said, kindly, looking out over the lights and catching a glimpse of the distinctive lighting of his beloved Chrysler building and wondering if they should call for the check, “he should get _something_ , since he didn’t get me!

         “How many times do you think we can play this game?”

 

Mozzie grinned hugely. “And where shall we send them next?

         “Good way to distract both of them, this, while we stay right here where they aren’t looking at all - or you do! Peter keeps finding parasites on society – _nasty_ ones, or ones that have Done Us Wrong - Collins keeps just catching parasites!

         “And how long till your Suit realises…criminals are _bad_ at obeying orders – even to run!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

End of Criminals are Bad.

 

 


End file.
